


life is gonna come at you with hard times and tough choices

by chalahandra



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, Tainted Slurry!Verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-04
Updated: 2014-11-04
Packaged: 2018-02-24 01:23:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2563061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chalahandra/pseuds/chalahandra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To survive, sometimes you’ve got to make sacrifices and try something new. Or; Karkat Vantas decides to get a job on a smuggler’s ship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	life is gonna come at you with hard times and tough choices

**Author's Note:**

> For the ever-wonderful roachpatrol! I wrote her this for her birthday.

**carcinoGeneticist started trolling estuarineSloth!**

**CG: I HEAR YOU’RE LOOKING FOR CREWMEMBERS**  
CG: I’D LIKE TO  
CG: I’D LIKE TO OFFER MY SERVICES  
ES: Lordlick Tavern on morrow’s eve  
CG: WHAT?  
ES: I’ll be there, dipstick  
ES: if you’re not scared shitless by the place  
ES: come by for an interview  
CG: I’LL BE THERE.

 

The tavern is dark, and it smells like three months of sweaty laundry mouldering in a corner with alcohol poured on top. But, this is the place the troll Craigslist ad said to come to. It takes three long pulses of your bloodpusher for your oculars to adjust, and then you slip in, moving between trolls with biceps the size of your head and horns the length of your forelimb. You barely come up to their armpits, and it’s fucking terrifying.

You hitch your hood further down and hunch your shoulders; not a threat, not a threat. You repeat it under your breath, and sidestep around a broad-horned troll with inch-long spines protruding  _from his back_ , what the actual fuck.

There’s a yelp, and you duck in time to see a greenblood slam right into the entry portal. Or, you think it’s a greenblood, given the fact that they’re dyed their mohawk an eye-searing shade of lime. Idiot. You look back the other way, and nearly shit your pants right then and there.

That’s an adult seadweller. With a mildly irritated look on her face. Pinpoints of light pick out her face and fins, and you have to lock your knees to stop yourself from falling over. Given the sudden hush that falls over the tavern, you’re willing to bet that no one else really wants to put themselves in the line of fire.

You’re willing to bet  _that’s_  estuarineSloth, and now you’re really beginning to regret finding that troll Craigslist ad.

A long moment passes, and the seadweller sits back down, light fading back from her fins. The other patrons relax slightly, and the usual low rumble of conversation starts up again. Go time. You muster what little courage you have left and slink over to her table, pulling yourself up onto the high stool.

She takes a look at you, patched hoodie, thick unkempt hair, ragged claws, and goes right back to picking her way through a bowl of reconstituted seaweed and crickets. You don’t know what to say. She’s the biggest troll you’ve ever seen, and your entire body is telling you to  _run away._  Like, now.

Crunch, crunch, slurp. You open your mouth to say something, realise how dumb it is, and close it again. Your claws tap-tap against the tabletop, trying to think of something clever to say, something witty, something sharp, something that won’t get you thrown out of the  _fucking door_  why didn’t you think this through; Karkat Vantas, you are a stain upon the fairly ugly face of trollkind.

“Who the fuck are you?” Your claws stop their intricate little dance, and you can’t help but stare at them, how you gnawed on the one on your right pinkie, how your left thumb claw was torn down to the quick—“Oi, dipstick, I asked you a question.”

“Karkat Vantas!” You squeak it out, still transfixed by your fingers and how horrible they look. This was not how this was meant to go. “CarcinoGeneticist on Trollian…” You trail off, and knit your fingers together.

The seadweller munches on another cricket. “Yeah, I remember you. Grey all-caps, right?” You mock-glare at her through your greasy fringe.

“It’s fucking shift, not caps lock. Caps lock is for  _wigglers_.” Oh, god. She looks perplexed for a moment, and then grins, showing a mouth full of icepick teeth. You’re dead, you’re so dead. She is going to bite your throat out and use your ribs to pick her teeth.

“You’ve got a spine, that’s good. Someone who’s all ribs and prick like you needs something like that.” You bristle at her, thoroughly offended. You just haven’t hit your growth spurt yet, that’s all. Fucking  _rude_. “What else you got, grommet?”

“I – I can code, I can shout at people…” You’re rapidly realising that this was a really fucking bad idea. You have next-to-nothing in terms of valuable skills. You’re not a psychic or a psionic, you’re not strong, you’re not smart, you can’t fix things or build things. You realise she’s waiting for you to finish up your shit resume. “That’s it.”

She nods slowly, takes a swig. “Shouting’s not bad. Neither’s coding.” Fuck. She’s going to say no, and then you’re doomed. “Got anything in the way of backyard mechanics?” Nope. “Fancy brain shit?” Definitely not. “Well, shit. Kid, how old are you?”

This is it. She’s gonna say no when she hears it. “Nine sweeps.” You straighten your spine, try to make yourself looks bigger. It’s not going to work.

What you don’t expect her to do is reach out and grab you by the chin, pulling you forward.

“Nine, you say?” You sit as still as you can with a claw  _right below_  your eye. Your pupil contracts as the seadweller’s bioluminescent glow brightens, and she leans in, peering at your iris.

You’re dead. You’re so dead – there’s a reason you’ve have your hood down ever since you left your hive, and that’s because your fucking oculars decided to fill in with fucking crimson a sweep earlier than they should have.

Your entire body is screaming to run, but you grip the edge of the table, digging your claws in. You can’t run, this is your only chance to get off this fucking planet alive. You curse your blood, you curse your hatchright, and you curse this whole damn planet—

The seadweller sits back. She hums in thought. You’re nearly fucking hyperventilating, and she takes a long pull of her drink. This was a bad idea.

She sets her drink down, and looks at you evenly.

“You got any quadrants you need to keep with you?” You think of Sollux, who’s going to be wired into a ship, Tavros with his cyborg legs, Aradia; who survived Sollux at six sweeps and Vriska at eight, Nepeta, Gamzee, Kanaya… Eridan and Feferi and Terezi, who are making a plan to take down the Empress herself. They don’t need you. Your bloodpusher aches at the thought of leaving them behind, but you had to convince yourself that it was for the best, that they didn’t need a half-sized redblood mutant holding them back. There’s a knot in your throat again. You get the feeling that speaking will only make that knot worse, so you mutely shake your head. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

Something prickles between your shoulder blades, and you hunch down, warily scanning the room. A perigee of travel has made you wary and cautious. This shouldn’t be so easy. You should be dead by now. The seadweller pops the last dregs of seaweed into her mouth, and stands.

“C’mon, grommet. We’ve got a ship to fly.” Her head almost scrapes the ceiling, and you gape. Adult seadweller, duh, of course she’s huge. She raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, I meant you, bonehead. Let’s go.”

You’ve done it. A faint sense of hope rises in your gut, and you scramble after her, tugging your hood low. You’re going to escape this god-forsaken planet. As the seadweller strides down the street, trolls scatter from her path. You bob along in her shadow, taking two steps to each of hers.

You hear the mutters as the seadweller – your Captain, she’s your Captain now – sweeps past, and you let a mad grin split across your face. You, Karkat Vantas, have shoved two middle fingers into fate’s face. You’re nine sweeps old, and now you might just make it to ten. If you’re lucky.


End file.
